Paper Flowers
by Gen Laveau
Summary: Sometimes, love is all you have. Sometimes, it was never a part to begin with. (Nyo!Spuk)


Note: T/W for non-consent, dubious consent, and abuse; this story is not meant to be romantic by any means.

Carmen's hair smelled like flowers; sweet and powdery, like the pretty orange carnations that she wears in her ponytail. The velvet-smooth blossoms make her sun-kissed skin glow with a matching undertone.

She's like the sun, vibrant and vivid; her smile is golden.

But the color, like the smell, feigns warmth. It's a visage- a dissonance of what she is and what she is when they're together. Alice responds to her touch, feels the friction of their skin, the tickle of her dark, curly hair as it traces her body, but she doesn't feel it anymore. The flowers wither and die, leaving only the dry, crumbling remains to be crushed in her fist, tossed and left to rot on the sheets.

Alice is too tired to be bitter anymore; too exhausted to feel anything but burning regret from how good it feels to be held. Carmen's fingers edge the silken fabric of her nightgown, tracing the outside of her thigh with care, nails leaving scarlet trails across milky skin. It's unpleasant, but she won't tell Carmen to stop. She's so tired, her eyes beginning to drift shut.

But then sharp grasp at her chin and a jerk of her neck tears her from what little rest she nearly caught, forcing a pained noise from her throat, meeting emerald eyes that mirror her own.

"Oh, mi amor, did I hurt you? I'm sorry." The apologetic smile on Carmen's face is a crude imitation of what she remembers empathy to be. Alice smacks her hand, but it serves only to loosen her grip; nails still tease her skin, testing how deep they could delve before the flesh pops beneath them. "I never want to hurt my Alice. Not my Alice, ay no no…"

"Let me sleep." It's an order but the words have no bite. No muscle on the Spaniard's faces twitches, and she pushes limp fabric up to Alice's hip, kissing her throat.

"I want to see you." She pulls away from Carmen's kisses, but when she goes to smack her away, her wrist is caught, cradled in her lover's grasp as if she were following the older woman's lead in a waltz. "Why do you always push me away, amor?"

"Shut up-" Alice gasps and chokes when the hand around her throat tightens and Carmen buries her fingers inside her, moving at a speed she's unprepared for, leaving her to ache and burn and be painfully dragged towards a dry climax.

"Mi amor…"

The title lost its meaning ages ago; then again, she can't remember when the words ever held meaning. They were as false and feeless as the lifeless green eyes staring down at her, watching her squirm. And as Alice began numbing to the pain, a sound being forced from her throat, she realized the lies hurt far more than Carmen's hand ever could. But Carmen wasn't the only one lying. She was lying to herself a little more every day; that she didn't want to leave, that the few hits she got on the Spaniard actually meant something, that if it became too much she'd have no problem leaving without a word…

Lies.

Lies and the sickly sweet smell of Carmen's soft, dark hair; that's all she really had.

That's all it ever was.

x

When Carmen wakes up to get ready for work, she sees Alice sleeping in the fetal position, balled beneath the covers to put a wall between them, and pads into the bathroom to wash up. The shower is busted, so she strips naked and sponges off in the sink. She doesn't even notice Alice was watching her from the doorway until she sees her face in the mirror, turning to greet the placid-faced blonde. She was expecting for Alice's face to twist with bestial rage before belting her in the face, busting her lip and sending blood splattering onto the countertop.

More than anything, she's disappointed she didn't see it coming. She usually always sees Alice's blows in time to react.

Usually, but not today.

After last night, she was tired. She took what she wanted, but she hadn't gained anything from it; just an illusion of control and a cramp in her hand. Her head was fuzzy- though that was her fault for going to bed sour and drunk. It made her sluggish, the purples cradles under her eyes stark against the dull bronze of her skin. And now she had a bruise on her cheek to match. But she wouldn't pay Alice back for it. She was too tired.

Alice says "fuck you" like a mantra, but Carmen ignores her. She smears foundation on her swollen cheek, blending it in and disregarding the fact that the Brit is shaking her violently. Before long, Alice leaves in a huff, storming into their bedroom and slamming the door behind her. Carmen hears glass shatter as she paints her lips red to cover the ugly split, but goes back into the bedroom anyway to pick out her clothes. Alice's fists slam repeatedly into her shoulders, rocking her frame, making a sharp jerk in her vision.

With a growl, she swings a savage backhand into Alice's cheek- the one opposite of her own injured cheek- sending her reeling, flopping back onto the bed.

"Enough!" Carmen's voice cracks like she's ready to cry, tearing her clothes off the hanger.

Alice sneers, rubbing her face gingerly, blood trailing from the corner of her mouth. "S-so only it only stops when _you're_ tired of it, is that it? Fuck you."

Carmen pulls on her blouse and skirt in silence.

"You're a real piece of work, you know that?"

No answer.

"Can't even think of anything to say, can you? Of course not. You're all brawn and nothing else. Surprised you can even think even to keep your mouth shut."

Tears burn her eyes, but she slips on her shoes and starts towards the door. But she hears Alice's footsteps behind her.

This is only going to end one way...

"Don't you walk away from me, you goddamn coward! At least apologize for what you did to me before you run off with your little Italian whore-!"

" _Cállate, pinche puta_!" Carmen spins, pulling her arm back from another smack, watching Alice cringe. But despite herself she lets it fall. Alice looks at her again with a squint, seeing the tears streaming down the Spaniard's face, though her face is disfigured by rage. " _Cállate…_ I try so hard not to hurt you, and you make it so much fucking harder..!"

Carmen slumps down against the wall, her body wracked with hiccoughs as she sobs into her hands. She stays there for a good minute, with Alice just staring down at her blankly. This became her defense maneuver. Alice had more of a tolerance for violence- ironic, all things considered- and a sharper tongue; Carmen could be cruel as all get out, but deep down, every deed hurt, wore her down and tore her up inside. This cycle of Alice's verbal barbs and her own brutal hits, it was a scourge burned into her flesh and her soul…

This is what they were. As far as she can remember, that's what they've always been.

It takes several minutes before Alice sits down beside her on the floor, silent, and curls a small, white hand around Carmen's. They stay like that without sharing words, without even looking at each other. Thin veneers of intimacy, yes, but intimacy all the same. Both knew it was never last, but that just made it harder for Carmen to let go of her hand.

x

Alice spent the day in a sour mood. She cleaned the blood from the floor and the countertop in the bathroom, managed to pick at a salad for 15 minutes and finally decided she wasn't hungry enough to finish it, then spent the remainder of the afternoon on the couch. She kept the bottle of scotch from her private cupboard at her side, taking a gulp whenever she felt the ache in her cheek. It's bitter and burns her throat with every swallow, but it numbs the pain to a muted throb in her veins and her chest.

 _Why am I still here?_

She looks to Carmen's tomato plants sat in their windowsill box garden. Every day the Spanish women tended to them, watering, pruning, gingerly touching the budding fruit and soft leaves while uttering the sweetest of pleasantries, like whispering to a lover. It made Alice's blood boil. All the years she'd wasted in this house of lies, and Carmen had never once treated her like a flower.

Not a real one anyway. Some cheap imitation, plastic stem and paper petals, to be torn snapped and torn and twisted until it no longer resembled any sort of living thing.

Alice gets off the couch, emptying the remainder of her scotch into the modest little garden, until alcohol poured out the bottom, leaving a damp stain on the carpet.

 _Why did I come here to begin with?_

The bottle smashes against the wall, shattering into a dozen shards of bronze-coloured glass, a feral snarl leaving Alice's lips as she falls to the floor, face in her hands, angry tears pouring down her cheeks. Killing Carmen's beloved plants didn't make her feel better; it only fueled a fire in her belly, made her want to do more to hurt the Spaniard. There was no regret, and no fear for what punishment Carmen would deliver upon her that night. Just bitter, bitter hatred.

 _Why can't I leave..?_

She cries harder, nails clawing at the carpet.

 _Why can't I just leave..?_

x

The wilted plants that greet Carmen when she comes home served as a warning. She touches the sickly leaves, watching them crumble between her fingers like singed paper, and she feels nothing. There's an awful taste of sick in her mouth as she wanders into the bedroom, and its foreboding. Tonight will be like the last, and the day after that, and the day after that…

It'd never end.

No night of passion 2 years earlier and no hastily said "I love you's" could ever make up for what she and Alice had made.

It's unholy, it's unhealthy, and it needed to stop.

As Carmen enters the bedroom, she sees Alice lying atop the comforter. Her eyes twitch at the light from the hall, and she mutters something so slurred the Spaniard can't even make it out as English. Half empty bottles of something clear and sour-smelling litter the Brit's side of the bed, and the stink has clouded the air in their bedroom.

Carmen opens a window before she starts slipping out of her work clothes, and steps into her nightgown, climbing into bed with a solemn expression.

"Go the f'ck a'ay, you bitch…"

Carmen curls a hand gently around Alice's throat and squeezes, and the Brit swears under her breath. The Spaniard kisses her cheek gently, voice saccharine and sickeningly demure.

"Amor…"

"No…" Alice's breathing slows as Carmen kisses her again, her body barely twitching, brain too fogged by alcohol to comprehend what's going on.

All she can does is reach up, fingers weaving into Carmen's hair, yanking out her ponytail, and sending her carnation hair ornament falling to the pillow. She can just barely see the orange blossom in the darkness, and she reaches out to crush it in her fist, sending petals flying.

She sees them slowly fade to white, and the scent, sweet and powdery gets caught in her nose. Carmen's hand tightens, and her breath is caught in her throat. Pretty carmine lips touch hers and then curl into a smile as she chokes on the scent of lies and rotting flowers.

"Amor…"


End file.
